Reverse
by Lendra-chan
Summary: Curiosity may have killed the cat, but it only made his hollow that much more interested. It is then she finds there is more than a death trap inside his mind. And it wants her.
1. All the King's Horses

Lendra-chan: I. Warn. You.

I have absolutely NO direction with this. I'm writing it for the sake of writing because I've been dying to AND my skills are getting rusty.

And it's kind of like…a loophole for not updating my other fics because I've been so bloody busy with other things..

It burns.

It burns with the fires of a thousand evils.

…

And Rukia x Hichigo is intriguing in the most forbidden way possible. So sue me.

Warning – potty mouth alert

Disclaimer – not even the potential idea of Hichigo's black fingernails are due to polish do I own.

* * *

**Reverse**

Part I

All the King's Horses

* * *

If Ichigo is the one who is known to have no patience and a short temper, then his hollow is the hell child of said negative attributes.

His impatience is little to none, and Ichigo feels it more than anything when that mask is on his face. It's like he's screaming in his ear, tearing at his eyes and just repeating it like a maddening cycle.

Ichigo's tolerance only runs so thick. And he's especially intolerant of himself. The hollow knows this too, and Ichigo can hear the ring of his screeching become more strident with every glance because of it.

With every breath, every glance, every grip, every beat, every glance, every breath, every _fucking_ _breath_ that he takes.

And Ichigo thinks to himself;

_Fuckit! My lungs would be on fire anyway, so why not deal with it just a little longer? _

Because Ichigo is not the self-preserving type, but he is still a teenager.

And when his hollow, _whatever the fuck that bastard's name may be, because he only answers to two or none at all, _grins and speaks to him in these riddles and broken phrases with _his _sword in his hand, Ichigo thinks to himself,

_I'm not a fucking guinea pig, so don't test your weird-ass stunts with my mind, my body. _

And he always answers back that it was never his body to begin with, but _theirs _and he should be _grateful _because-

"_I could take it from you with the easiest of slipups and even _you _know that."_

And Ichigo does not believe him, because he has beaten him before – more than once, he reminds himself out of reassurance, because pride is just plain stupid to consider when you're only fighting yourself.

So Ichigo still does not believe him.

And neither does Rukia.

He had tried so long to keep her a secret. But when a blue tongue licks grinning lips, Ichigo knows just how _fucking stupid _that was to even try.

Because _he's_ been there from the start, and Ichigo was never really good at keeping his thoughts from himself anyway.

Zangetsu knew, so why not him? _It? _

"_Hichigo, if you please."_

Ichigo does not _please, _whatever that means, because that name is way too close to his own and he is so definitely different.

Oh so definitely, assuredly, undoubtedly, _damn fucking different because I am real and he is not; _It _is not and god damnit, I do not have a blue tongue. _

Or the black fingernails, but Ichigo can overlook that abnormality because he is pouting at him now and Ichigo is unsure of what to think of this expression.

"_I'm hurt, King; really, I'm as real as I'll ever be, which is as real as it gets." _

He lifts his hand and inspects his fingers, as if Ichigo's lack of scrutiny had drawn to his attention that, perhaps he _does _need something a little bit more 'antithesis of Ichigo' on his nails.

But that isn't his focus, and he grins as he waves his white palm and replies smoothly;

"_Shirosaki, then. I want a name for when I meet her." _

He—It isn't going to meet her; _ever. _And Ichigo tells him as such.

"_But it's so sunny, King. The metal is hot, and I'm tired of you being a selfish little snob."_

Ichigo does not understand what hot metal and being a snob has to do with anything, so he reminds this Shirosaki that he will never meet Rukia and that was that.

So when sandal-wood feet and a vision of blue eyes and black hair balance along the thin beam of metal - between two rows of unending windows and glass and sky, Ichigo wants to scream. But he is no longer part of this anymore. Rukia's curiosity cannot be suppressed by mere psychological catastrophes (_fucked up shit) _like Shirosaki (_that hollow bastard.) _

And it is _just like that little bitch to think she could handle something like hi---it._

But it isn't handling, she says. It is learning and growing and moving and breathing, and why should she run away when she told him that was the _last_ thing _he_ was allowed to do?

It does not make sense, so it is worth figuring out.

And with that, _that little bitch left without another word. She didn't wait for my approval, or to even hear why it's fucking suicidal to go in there. _

_It's _my _mind and I don't get a say on who takes the grand tour? _That _did not make sense, and god fucking damnit, _he is shaking and frightened, _frightened _for the first time in a long time, to maybe hope that she will be alright.

But Ichigo can do little more than hope, and that scares the _shit out of him. _

She stands now, leering up into the sky and focusing on a small patch of blue while the rest cupped it gently in a fluffy collage of white and gray.

It is overcast, but to Rukia, it is normal; he is unsure. Ichigo has no confidence in her abilities, does he. She sniffs at the vertical accumulation of psychological vapor and controls the smirk that threatens at the corners of her lips when another patch of blue appears.

"My, aren't you patient."

Rukia has half a mind to turn around and scold Ichigo, but she knows better.

Rukia is not careless or naïve; not again; not with this boy. She turns to face the mirror image of him garbed and painted in white and black.

It is sheik for a dead thing, but he smells like those familiar spirits with that teasing brush of Ichigo and she does not like it.

That's what she says.

"It's not patience" She replies and she can imagine him cocking his head to the side as he questions-

"Oh? What is it then?"

Her eyes are set and she does not answer him. Instead she decides to move things along and regards him with the name she is most familiar with his kind.

"Hollow."

"Hichigo – I'm much different than those beasts—"

"Hollow," she interrupts him, a bit more assertive than before.

His face screws and Rukia holds her tongue, for she so desperately wants to rebuke habitually that _one should not make such a face at a lady, Ichig—_

"Shirosaki, then," he bargains, but Rukia does not bid on what she does not want.

"_Hollow." _She nearly bites it out this time, and his hollow both admires and hates her for this loyalty.

But this Shirosaki is a quick learner, and Rukia is a creature of curious nature. She's much too nosey to let something unexplored pass her by when it willingly is allowing her to out-step her boundaries and proceed well into his own territory.

He pivots on his heel and begins to saunter away – hand raised above his head as a casual adieu.

"See ya," he chirps.

Rukia knows this game, and she is angry, [_sofuckingpissed_ as Ichigo says] that she has to play along.

"Shirosaki!" Rukia calls, annoyed that he so easily manipulates. And as expected, he stops and gives her a handsome little smirk over his shoulder.

"Not too tough, I expect?"

And she gave him the iciest Kuchiki glare she can muster.

Which does not matter to him, because names of people he cares little for and has even less interest in do not mean a thing. Rukia counts where Kuchiki does not and _that_ is all that matters.

And really, she is simply part of this _fucked up_ game of puppets and puppeteers he runs.

He turns back and even hums a tune in his stride.

"Y'know, I ain't got a name."

He says this, and Rukia is perplexed. She furrows her eyebrows, suspicious at his new riddle and licks her lips before retorting back.

"But you just—"

He cackles in interruption of her accusation and gives her one of those grins – those grins which a hollow can't sport, but an Ichigo most certainly can, so she gets so, so angry that _it_ can, and does it so well.

"Aaahh, that was a test, you see." He waves his fingers like a wand and his words are the magic that flow out.

Rukia does not like his cunning, and she almost laughs at her thoughts of _yes, this most certainly is the opposite of Ichigo. _

"A test," she parrots, miffed.

"Indeed. And you passed. Bravo~" he croons, and gives her a one-man clap that echoes so softly in the soundlessness that is Ichigo's mind, Rukia is sure one could mistake the applause for the beating of hummingbird wings.

"You almost didn't, though. You were in a dangerous zone! But you got out – admirable, Rukia, very admirable." He beams at her and Rukia is enraged.

"How do you know my name," she demands, fists clenching but not yet itching for her blade. His smirk is coy at her question and she feels her fingers twitch.

"How could I not is the real question." The man [_creature_] before her grins and preoccupies himself with his black nails.

"Stop your mind games!" She is seething and tired of dancing around subjects that do not matter. The man [_creature, Rukia, CREATURE_] cackles for he is amused by the irony.

"Oh, but it's my specialty."

Rukia knows that it is pointless to argue about this _creature's _sanity, and decides to take things into her own hands – speeding things along were not going to come from his participation in the silly conversation.

_What conversation? This isn't a fucking conversation, Rukia, it's—_

"Why do you wish to see me." She seethes the question, voice hard and cold and the hollow finds himself enjoying it completely.

"I don't believe it's any different than the reason why _you _wish to see _me." _And there he goes again, waving his hand around like a maestro – his orchestra the worldly strings of minds around him.

And Rukia does not like that he is right. She does not say another word and the smugness in the hollow's eyes is nearly tangible.

"You see, these buildings gab all day. And Ichigo's mind is so fucking empty, it just echoes."

Rukia's eyes are curious now – that type of curious sapphire with that hint of violet which siphon into gold.

"They speak?"

Absurd, Rukia says to herself. They are large rectangular structures made up of glass and metal. Speaking is far beyond such elemental capability. But Shirosaki's expression is not mocking and he instead spreads his arms out wide.

"Love, this is the _great_ mind of Ichigo Kurosaki!" He shouts, and his voice is booming.

Of course the buildings speak, Rukia reasons. It is Ichigo's _mind _after all.

There is a pause before Rukia's eyes narrow.

"Don't call me that."

His face quirks at her inquiry.

"Call you what, love?"

"_That!" _Rukia barks, and her small fist is clenched tightly around the hilt of Shirayuki. Her cheeks bleed red.

He loves it, _loves _it, and he understands now why Ichigo argues so valiantly with someone so impossible to win against.

Rukia releases her sword on the hollow and before she is even able to raise her arm, his palm is grasping the weapon and holding it steady.

Rukia shivers because his thumb is stroking the blade as though it were flesh, and it is almost as though he is stroking her face.

"Ah-ah-ah, love; we'll have none of that." And his hand slides down the blade slowly – caressing the blade between bleeding folds of flesh. "I'd rather not bloody that pretty face."

And it is only now Rukia realizes that this time, he truly _is _caressing her face. Her mind is screaming, _screaming _because she is doing nothing but gaping and his hand is so warm and so unusually soft.

She feels helpless and angry, which is so very dangerous in the face of being rational in irrational situations. He leans in, his nose nuzzling the crest of her ear, the line of her neck, the hollow of her collarbone and repeats this cat-like motion.

He hums, deep and clear and it so strangely intimate and affectionate, Rukia is frightened and _so fucking pissed _that she isn't doing anything, _cannot _do anything, but more so that a hollow is the one performing.

He breathes now and his whispers ring like a funeral bell.

"_You smell good enough to eat."_

Rukia screams and strikes out her blade.

She thinks she nicks him at the sight of blood, but she is wrong when a pair of white palms wrap around her delicate neck. They squeeze and Rukia gags in need of air for a moment.

"Not yet, Rukia, not yet~" His voice is in her ear and suddenly, she is flying down to the floor of glass beneath her as the hollow pushes her down.

When her back strikes, a rain of water that was once seemingly sediment on the ceramic floor jumps, tiles leaping for a moment – as if the floor was ripped from underneath them and they had yet to fall back into place. Rukia opens her eyes and the water and tiles clack and spatter back to the flooring, having been suspended in the air above.

She is breathing heavy. Her sapphire orbs are wide as she looks around, the scenery having completely changed as though the hollow had body slammed her into another dimension.

She is slow to rise from the floor, feeling as though eyes were on her, burning, burning. She is right, however, for there is a small sloshing of water and a smooth voice beckons her attention elsewhere.

"Love~" He chimes and sapphire eyes whip at him too warily for her taste. She is unable to prevent her mouth from gaping; pink lip hanging just a little bit. The tiles lead off unevenly to a stone bed circled with steaming water and…bubbles; a mimic of eloquently designed baths.

And a bath it is – though seemingly twisted between dimensions of domesticated and wild. Past the bubbles and hot water - which flows over the stone like a cascade - the tiles dance and seep fleetingly into what Rukia deems forest ground. Moss and ferns sprout up along Celtic designs of mystically twisted roots of trees and wood.

It is a captivating scene of a misty, vast rainforest that towered with trees and foliage mystically over the corner stones of the bath. Rukia's mind can only piece together some fantasy of elves and fairies in such a mystic looking wood.

"Look here, love." That voice chimes again and Rukia's eyes shift back – surprisingly more daunting than aggravating. That quickly changes when she spots him—_it! It's __**it, **__goddamnit!_

Perplexity dawns her expression like a curtain presenting a show, and her face is hot in her spout of frustration and perhaps even embarrassment. How humiliating does this creature plan to make this visit, she wonders.

The hollow is wading in the hot water, flitting the bubbles about and purring at the sensation. Rukia sniffs and averts her gaze, not to be taunted by his demeanor. The hollow chuckles at this, wholesome and empty at the same time.

"Love, you are _too _cute." He admonishes, and Rukia feels her temper rise. The hollow scrutinizes her pink cheeks and believes that a deep, strawberry red would compliment them better. He dips a toe up, breaking the surface and wiggling it.

He is being playful.

Rukia is not expectant of his nature and, as he continues to tease her, she continues to grow more and more impatient. Her shoulders rise and she sputters at him – eyebrows drawn.

"Quit this foolishness and speak with me!" She orders and believes she is seeing things when a span of wings flutter above her and glides into the vast spread of rainforest.

"Come on in, Rukia, the water's great~" He notes in a sultry voice. Rukia feels her mind reeling from the change in character and barks back.

"I will not be puppet to your games, hollow, now start talking!" Rukia is just as confused as Ichigo is when he pouts at her.

"I won't talk unless we're together." _How childish _Rukia thinks and glares even more so.

"Then you come out here. I am not stepping foot in that water." She states resolutely and stands ground. She is surprised when the hollow shrugs his shoulders, having easily caved and sighs.

"As you wish~" he chirps and stands fully.

Rukia immediately understands why.

Her eyes avert as soon as the Hollow raises himself from the water – her face that desired shade of strawberry red. He is smirking and unashamed as he stands, awaiting her reaction.

He is completely naked below the torso. _And above as well, Rukia – call him an __**it **__now, when his body mimics his human mirror so well. _

Rukia is ashamed to find it is hard to do just that. She feels her nostrils flair and she jabs a pointed finger toward the bath.

"Back in the water. _Now._" When she hears a snicker and the ring of water, she slowly turns her eyes back to see him submerged decently, though arms lazily perched atop the stone. His chest is puffed in arrogance and he is smirking at her so hungrily, she almost hears the rolling purr of his stomach.

"Come on in, Rukia. The water's great." He repeats and Rukia finally understand.

She glares. _Hard. _

"I'm not joining you, hollow." She hisses, her hand shifting to grip around the comforting scabbard of Shirayuki's sheath.

But it is not there.

Her eyes are fearful when she finds that her zanpakutou is no longer strapped to her waist. Her hand brushes skin.

"But you're all ready to jump right in." He remarks with a wave of a wet, white palm. His golden eyes are on her hotter than before. Rukia looks down and yelps at what she finds; creamy skin with not a trace of white or black silk. She panics and slaps small arms over whatever she can hide from scrutiny.

The hollow smirks – he's seen it all anyway. And he likes it.

"What sick games are you playing at?!" Rukia bellows, infuriated and thoroughly embarrassed from the shock. The hollow is barely adjourned by her outburst and cocks his head to the side.

"What do clothes matter in the preparation and act of deep conversation?" He chimes wisely, but Rukia is quick to quip back.

"It is a sign of domestication, modesty and—"

"The question was rhetorical for it _doesn't_ matter. Get in the water, Rukia." He says for the third time. Rukia is shocked to find that the third time is, indeed, a charm, for she begrudgingly shuffles over and eases in.

Not without a venomous glare that never wavers from her sapphires to his golden gaze. The water obscures her body from view and the small path of bubbles aid her in decency. The water is warm, but she still feels the chill.

Her eyes never cease their scowl on the hollow. He hums, however, either ignorant or ignoring the malice in her glare, and treads water on the tips of his fingers.

"Are you warming up, Rukia?" He asks, conversationally.

Rukia has never really upheld a conversation with a hollow before and she decides it's best not to start.

However, when she opens her mouth to protest, hissing, she finds that her body has warmed considerably so, and the water has soothed her aggravated nerves. She sees the smirk on his white face and the playful skim of his fingertips.

Rukia's eyes narrow. This was, indeed, the creature who had attempted to eat Ichigo alive, inside and out, and mentally scrape a path into the outside. It is ruthless and spiteful and did not hesitate to try and kill Ichigo when given the chance.

It did not make sense. It did not make sense at all as to why—

"Why are you doing this."

"Doing what, love?" He tweets and Rukia ignores it.

"This. Coaxing me like this. _Coddling _me. Why aren't you trying to kill me."

And to Rukia's bewilderment, the Hollow begins to laugh. It starts with a giggle, a boyish one at that. Then soon, it erupts into full-blown laughter. His cackling makes Rukia a bit self-conscious and her arms raise over her breasts, though they are blocked from his view regardless.

"What are you laughing about?" She snaps and glares a bit harder than before.

His snickering dies down and when he opens his eyes, they are coy and interested. Rukia draws away, though her back is pressed against stone.

"I'm surprised that you think I would do such a thing. You think I'm unwise enough to nip at the hand who feeds me? Well, at least in the harmful way." He chimes with a teasing little ring and traces a circle on the surface of the water with his index finger.

That is the most perplexing riddle that he has spewed and Rukia finds that she is unable to decipher it at all.

"You don't understand." He states, able to read her eyes.

Rukia does not dwell on it and demands of him instead,

"Explain."

Rukia nearly regrets her decisional choice of words, for the hollow has suddenly advanced upon her and she has nowhere to go but to circle around this stone tub. And with his left, white arm boxing her in and brushing his wrist against her right shoulder, and his right palm encasing her breast, Rukia is stuck.

She opens her mouth to lash out at him; to thrash and kick and bite and punch and tear him away.

Until she realizes that, his right palm is not encasing her breast, but is simply resting right above it- cupping the pumping of her erratically beating heart. When she realizes this, and lifts her sapphires to his golden eyes, her heart rate slows just a bit, though she is still quite wary and unable to decipher what the feeling of his touch is.

"This. _This_ is what I lack, is it not?" He whispers, voice strangely low in comparison to what it has been and Rukia finds herself shivering at how it is so alike.

He leans in this time, his lips barely brushing the shell of her ear and murmurs again, lower, lower, lower, "Tell me, _shinigami~ _A heart is what a hollow lacks. Isn't that right?"

Rukia curses, for her heart rate picks up again.

"Yes." She agrees and swallows thickly.

"Well then," he continues and slowly draws away from her form. She finds she can breathe again and wonders why the hollow is smirking before she realizes her cheeks are dusted pink.

He does not hesitate at the pleasant color on her face and continues.

"I am a hollow." He mocks, knowing he's just a bit more than that, but humors Rukia's ever so ignorant declaration of his existence. "But I exist inside a being who harbors a heart."

Rukia watches – eyes hardened into marble and listens to him.

"I'm fashioned of instinct and desire, and that little extra oomph given to me that allowed me to materialize was that little incident my partner had training with a man you'd know as Urahara Kisuke."

Rukia's eyes widen and she is speechless – lost and knowing, _damnit, _knowing she was hanging on his words now.

He smirks and flourishes his hand. "Though_ I_ would refer to him as a shady old, _old _man. Very old indeed."

Questions were buzzing through Rukia's cranium. She has completely forgotten about the forest surrounding them, about the warm water, about her lack of clothing. She just wants answers.

"What are you talking about, 'extra oomph'? Training? Urahara? How do you know all this? How do you know Kisuke?!"

He laughs full heartedly and gives her a coy, pleasant grin. "Love, calm down~ You're going to make yourself blue in the face." He teases and then drops his tone to something more devilish. "I like the blue in your _eyes_ and the _red_ on your face. Don't mix them." He warns and Rukia is reminded that he is dangerous.

She quiets and bites her lip, knowing he'll make sense of it all, but only in due time. Rukia is patient, though she is unsure she's patient enough to deal with his riddles much longer.

"My 'oomph,' love, is what makes me…_hollow._" He begins and licks his lips, blue tongue darting out across the flesh.

"You see, King had a little brush with being a hollow - without you knowing, of course. He was trying so hard to get you back when they had taken you away." He seemingly sing-songs and Rukia is finding her heart spinning.

Ichigo had almost turned into a hollow?

Her brows sink and guilt swipes at her belly and constricts her heart.

_Why…why didn't he tell me?_

"Urahara Kisuke had taken him under his wing – I'm sure you know this. But what you don't know is Ichigo _had_ turned into a hollow." He is grinning at her and winks then. "You're looking at him." He explains.

"But…where does desire and instinct fall into this? You're much too sane--…" she shakes her head and the hollow chuckles. "-Much too conscientious to be a regular hollow. How--"

"Ichigo and myself share a mind. Why _shouldn't _I be…._conscientious?_"

Rukia finds she is still confused.

"I am made of his desires. His primal instincts." He begins, as though narrating a story. He shifts his eyes to her and smirks devilishly.

"At the time, they were to save you. To _survive_ so he could save you. To get _stronger _so he could save you. _To kill so he could save you._"

Rukia is almost disgusted with herself when she feels here heart pounding hotly at the idea.

"Well~ Of course, killing was kind of a last resort deal~" He giggles, then shrugs nonchalantly. "But it was still there. And they still all built together as he trained."

Rukia begins to follow this time. But for the sake of thorough explanation, she listens to him instead.

"Ohhh, and when he turned into that hollow, you wouldn't believe how I fed off those emotions~" He then presented a hand over himself and grinned so complacently, it was like a split across his face. "And here I am~" he chirps languidly.

"So he's dealt with you since that fiasco in Soul Society…" she finishes and the hollow makes a hissing sound of disapproval.

His face is contorted as if she made a comment that stung.

"_Dealing _with? That's a bit touchy. I was simply…_there _until I made myself known." He grins and shrugs his shoulders. "He needs me— "

"He does _not._" Rukia argues with that valiant courage and loyalty and the hollow really feels his skin crawl. The chills feel just so _damn _good.

"-But regardless of his needs, his urge to rescue you fueled the creation of my now existence."

"So you believe I'm the reason for you being?" She sounds incredulous but the hollow is never more assure.

"That's _exactly_ what I _know_." He avoids this trifling use of the word 'belief' for it is a personal opinion but what he's talking about is _fact_.

Rukia's gaze is ever lingering; debating, mulling, washing over this information as she stares at it – humming pleasantly and tracing the pads of his fingers across the water.

Her brows furrow more.

"I do not believe you." She states; strong and powerful. She pays no mind that she is nude before this powerful being, curled within a warm tub with it and denying it her submission to this 'truth' that he speaks of.

"Oh?" He chimes, curious at her response.

She lifts her chin and sniffs. "You are a creature of darkness- created by the excluded thoughts that Ichigo refused to acknowledge, compressed together and formed into a spiritual being; a hollow, simply because the life form you reside in his half dead himself; to which you negatively mimic."

His stare is curious until she continues and it is then he slowly begins to stiffen.

"You are not fully hollow, nor are you fully anything else, for you live a half life of a ghost and a half life of a conscious thing with a mind to create witticism and charm, insanity and power, yet you have nothing else to push you to materialize- create life and your own body to live in. You are an imitation of an ignorant Ichigo Kurosaki and it is due to your ignorance that you, _hollow, _are nothing more than his shadow!"

His fingers are around her throat now and she is lifted from the tub; water flowing down her flush naked form. She is gagging and scraping at his white fingers as he squeezes. She can see his eyes sparkling and his lips cracking his face in a dark smile.

"Aren't you beautiful." He says, low and gritty before she is swirled around and her back is thrust against something hard and cold and it knocks the wind from her. But she does not stop fighting for air.

Its body is hard against her own, one hand still gripping her throat as he molds against her form and hums into her ear. They are clothed now – decent in their shinigami robes, but she can still feel the warmth of the water emanating from its skin and it is terribly hard to deny how dazed his pressing form is making her.

"You don't get it, do you, Rukia-_chan._" He snickers into the shell of her ear and begins to nibble along the lobe.

She grunts and struggles against him, pleased to get an airflow but not happy with the heat wave his actions are permitting – thus restricting what little air supply she can squander.

"I am his fighter. I am _the _fighter. I'm that instinct; raw and carnal and it is _he _who is ignorant. _He _comes to _me _to learn how to fight and survive and if he passes my tests, I teach him." He growls low and nips the skin behind her ear as he presses his chest against her own; pleased to feel her little hands pressing and scratching and pushing against him.

"It's the last _fucking _thing I'd like to do, but he holds the reins and if he dies, I go kaput as well. Frankly, I'd like to tear off his head and take his throne" He chuckles then and shakes his head.

"Silly little Rukia. You can't pretend I don't exist. I may not be born of the womb and beat the heart of a living breathing soul, but I ain't a fucking cloud of imaginational dust created for convenience." It whispers softly and one hand goes to her chest once more, pressing against her heart before it cups her breast and squeezes the mound of flesh.

It earns an aghast little gasp from the puny shinigami and she struggles more valiantly against his hold.

"_Rukiiaaaa~_" He sing-songs, breathily into the air like a warm wind brushing by with a rolling distant storm deep in the heats of summer. She is flushed and angry and trying hard to reach for Shirayuki who is back at her waste and pulsing.

"Fucking _hell, _I want you so _bad~_" He growls against her ear and Rukia stills. She cannot believe what she hears and thus picks up her movement more – pretending that his words have fallen upon deaf ears. He snickers and begins to knead the cupped flesh softly to which Rukia whines angrily and begins to kick her feet.

"You don't know how badly I want to eat you. You smell so _fucking _delicious; and when King sniffs you when you're standing so close, your scent just carries along the wind and I can't fucking _stand _how much I want to _feed_ on you." Rukia can no longer discern if his desires consist of sexual motivations or the hollow's drive to snack on the ripe soul of a shinigami.

"But I'd be damned if I'd submit to my own undoing." He murmurs softly and pulls his mouth from her ear. Rukia is panting softly and her cheeks are pink with sapphire orbs, glazed ever so slightly. She is still having a hard time gathering proper air, and with his other hand softly kneading her breast, her concentration on gathering air and escaping is waning.

She shakes her head and whines a bit more, pushing against him – "W-Wha—"

"I'd _drown _if I even took a little nibble~" He admonishes in almost a strange, cynical amusement. "Little baby King would make it rain until the floods would look like rivers and the sky would look like ocean. He'd never recover if you were damaged~" It looks over her face and grins whimsically at the beautiful creature before him.

He throws his arms out then and cackles lightly. "You're the sun in the sky, Rukia! That ray of light that evaporates all those awful rain clouds." He stares at her, eyes deep, heavy, gleaming. He is angry suddenly and his palms are on her shoulders, pinning her to the wall once more and growling.

"You don't know how fucking _hard _it is for me not to devour you right now. You smell _so _good, love~" He whispers and shakes his head with a grin. "But I can't do a fucking thing." His brows raise and he sniffs softly. "I want to know you, Rukia. I want to know why you make things so dry, so bright, so _warm~_" His hands squeeze ever so slightly and it is almost frightening how much he resembles his King. "Is that too much?"

His gut is pierced then, right clean through, by a gleaming white blade, cold and beautiful and Rukia's arm is extended forward as she grips Shirayuki. He is surprised that this beautiful blade has run him through, but more so that the shinigami before him has taken him by surprise.

" 'Parently so." He answers his own question with a scoff and a twitch of his brows before he nonchalantly removes his torso from the blade and tinkers with the end of it.

She is breathing hard, impulse having driven her arm forward to pierce his body. She is frightened, but not of him. In all honesty, she is unable to identify what it is exactly that has her so scared. The anxiety is different from any type of fear that she has had before.

He sniffs then and pushes the blade away, the hole in his abdomen bleeding and seeping down onto the metal and glass – splattering as it hits the pane of the tilted window and smearing as it continues to drip.

"Fine." He concludes and Rukia sucks in a stiff breath. She realizes now. He is done with her – at least for now, and she is afraid – afraid that she may never return and right the wrongs she may have made.

"I'll let you try and figure it out." He chimes and leans in a moment to brush his mouth against her neck. She is slow in her thoughts and only manages to draw away when a sharp pain erupts from her jugular. She jerks away and hisses, slapping a palm over the nip wound – now bleeding form where he has bitten.

"What the hell are you talking about," she tries, her heart beating faster and faster as he advances.

His elbow extends back a bit and he cocks his head to the side – his neck cracking.

"Just what the hell he wants to do with you, is what-" he starts and she barely notices that his hand is in her gut, just as that insane blue-eyed espada had done, and he twist his fingers in delight.

"-Love." He finishes, chiming so pleasantly against her ear as he twists his fingers all the way around, as if winding a clock and she chokes.

His fingers pull out, he blows her a kiss, and there is suddenly a rush of sun, metal, glass and sky – as if she is falling into a black hole and she is still and staring and vacant in the mind as opposed to filled with thoughts of her life and the one whose mind she tried to penetrate.

She sits up.

Gasping, breathing hard.

Eyes wide, blue and shattered as she tries to pick up the pieces.

A palm goes to her belly and there is no warmth of seeping blood. She is intact and there is no ache of torn muscles and flesh and organs.

She notices then that panicked filled amber orbs have been staring at her all along and she whips her head up.

She is seated at the end of his bed and he is frozen, observing her like he had so long ago. Analyzing with frantic eyes.

She holds her hands up quickly.

"Ichigo, I'm fine." She assures him

But his gaze is unrelenting. Something sickening is twisting inside her gut as she sees his broken stare.

He speaks then, deep voice dipped richly in guilt.

"You're bleeding." He says softly.

Her brows furrow. She is confused, for she had checked herself over and her stomach was not run through. But she notices then, that her hand is stained and she stares at it a moment.

His palm us cupping the side of her neck then, and when he draws away, he too bears the mark of fresh stained blood on his palm. It's beaded and small, but it is there and to him, that's all that matters.

She knows then.

That it is not the last time she will see it.

She lifts her eyes to Ichigo and they sit there, staring, staring, staring.

"I need to ask you something." She says softly, after an eternity of amber and sapphire.

His hand grips tightly, the smell of her blood so delicious.

And he waits.

* * *

**END OF PART I**

* * *

Lendra-chan:

Yes. It's been ages. I understand.

And I'm terribly sorry. I just need major motivation and I have ADHD – those two don't work well.

Please review this – I worked very very hard on it.


	2. All the King's Men

**A/N: **Chapter two everyone – wow, finally, right?

**Warning: **Nothing but mild language

* * *

**Reverse**

Part II

All the King's Men

* * *

"Well that just seems utterly outrageous to me~"

Amber eyes narrow.

A fan waves idly, teasingly, then, crosses over smirking lips.

"You're mocking me. I know you are," the teenager growls and flairs his nostrils. He feels too heavy today, however, to huff and cross his arms. His temper is damp.

It doesn't go unnoticed.

"Oh, but you're mistaken! I really am not mocking you, Kurosaki-san. It really _is _outrageous." The man behind the waving fan chimes.

Ichigo doesn't let up – he knows better than to do that with this man.

"Outrageous is your field of practice, Urahara-san." He goes for the formalities, and as such, the fan-man cringes.

Urahara Kisuke is an old man. A very old man indeed.

He looks at the boy before him, a _legitimate _boy in comparison to him, and sniffs in disapproval. His blue-gray eyes quirk from underneath the shadow of his striped hat and he lifts his hand, the one _not _possessing his folded paper fan, and strokes his chin; adorned with his trademark five-o-clock shadow.

One wonders how he manages to sustain his ever-present stubble without an occasional clean shave.

"You know, Kurosaki-san, you may not be feeling all that great. You're respecting your elders without having to be told to do so~" he tweets as he continues to stroke his chin.

Ichigo can feel his temper rising once again, and as he fists his hands and gnashes his teeth, Urahara smiles reticently

"Damnit, Urahara, would you knock it off? I don't have time to screw around!" Ichigo honestly doesn't know if there is really a time limit, but he's assured there _is_ one on his patience.

Or is there really?

Frankly, it is much more accurate to replace 'patience' with the 'common sense' not to deck some innocent bystander for the sake of blowing off the billowing steam in his system.

A puff of hot air exhales from Urahara's lungs and he snaps his fan shut. The business begins.

"You said you bit her."

Ichigo visibly grimaces at his words and he scrunches his nose – not exactly his trademark scowl, but anyone can note he is displeased.

"_It _bit her; on the neck," he replies, feeling heavy in his words.

The shop owner stretches out his limbs lazily and yawns before straightening his back once more. It is no wonder the man is best friends with a cat.

"Well that's not uncommon for a hollow, right? Eating souls; or at least _trying _to."

Ichigo's eyes are weary as he tries to break down what he means to say to the man. There's more to it than what's being dished out, but Ichigo has never been good with words.

He's gotten worse since Rukia arrived, but that really didn't have anything to do with lack of common motor skills. He thinks it might be a heart condition, though testing proves the organ to be all in good health.

Why it seems hotter and stronger when she's around, he can only guess.

"I know; it's a bit more complicated when it's _your _hollow that's trying to eat the souls of your friends."

Wow.

If _that _isn't watered down. Ichigo isn't exactly sure if he is being offhanded about it, or trying to make him feel like everyone else – as if it were some general concern that a majority of the human populace is also dealing with.

Like trying to tame your new dog – or particularly stubborn acne or something.

Ichigo's nose scrunches once again when he absent-mindedly attempts to compare and contrast his hollow to a painfully oversized zit. One can make a simile to most anything now a days, but that is one in particular Ichigo doesn't want to focus on.

"I do believe you had your hollow under control, isn't that so?" Ichigo knows better than to assume that is a question. It was a test of truth – to interrogate Ichigo for any cracks; faults in his defenses.

He is weak today, but only emotionally – weary in his mood. His mentality remains ever strong.

"It wasn't a take over. She went into hi—_it's – _territory. My inner world." _Hell if I know the fuck __**how**__. _

Urahara's interest seems buzzed by Ichigo's words. One who does not know the man would barely be able to tell, let alone notice at all. But all that training does Ichigo well to discern the lift of his neck and the set of his eyebrows.

"Oh? And how did our little Rukia manage to swing that one?" Ichigo knows that Urahara wants the answers for the technique – not for the small talk.

But it can help. And that is all that matters.

"I don't know." Tch. A lot of help it does him, but it's an answer nonetheless. "She approached me about it and we argued. She said something but before I could really protest, I passed out... that's all I remember."

He feels pathetic to admit such things.

Urahara hums then, deep in his throat as he proceeds to rhythmically tap his paper fan against his chin. "Most likely a kido spell of some sort. That's what I'm presuming, anyway."

Ichigo scoffs, unbelieving.

"Kido that can purge into my _mind!?_" Isn't there some shinigami morality that _forbids _screwing with people's heads or something? That just seems so unethical.

Urahara is amused then and he chuckles a bit. "No, Kurosaki-san, I'm referring to your passing out."

Ichigo blushes.

"Oh."

_Duh._

"Yeah – yeah, I'm sure it- it was- yeah…" He trails off, embarrassed at his blunder as he bashfully scratches the back of his neck.

Urahara, however, waves his fan once more and hums delightedly. "But I don't doubt there is a type of spell that could do such a thing~!" He chirps and crosses his arms. "It'd be a very high power spell, though."

Ichigo glares, his brows immediately puckering. Sure – make him feel like an idiot first before assuring him that such a thing was a possibility. Regular Urahara.

"Kurosaki-san," Urahara speaks then, and Ichigo draws his slightly flushed gaze up to the man.

He is serious now – his face devoid of crinkled mirth and crooked grins.

"This isn't something natural."

A figurative stone drops into his belly, from a higher distance than normal Ichigo surmises, because when it hits the pit of his stomach, it hurts a bit more than a figurative stone should.

His brows pucker and he looks so much like when he was little, when he would try to decipher the simple makings of a math problem, the malfunction of his bakery goods or why his mommy would kiss his daddy different from the way she'd kiss _him_ (which didn't take long, really. That came with the 'cooties' stage.)

"But, you just said-"

He is interrupted as Urahara continues to speak.

"Rukia-san may have the ability to knock you unconscious and probe your mind to _that _extent, but that doesn't make her encounter with your hollow any less unnatural."

Ichigo doesn't understand and he shakes his head, mane of citrus locks flicking about then settling back into place.

"Such injury inflictions upon her in your mind should not affect her physical state of being in reality. It's all subconscious."

It sounds so…heavy. Ichigo can't help the shiver as he reverts his chocolaty depths down to the mats below for a moment before flicking upward and around – his thoughts direct in his concentration.

It was just one little bite…

"…What does that mean…?" He is almost scared to ask.

The shop owner shakes his head, tussling his genius mind for answers yet receiving none. His fan snaps and he sighs heavily – it makes the buckles of Ichigo's spine click in the ominous apprehension.

He never once liked when Urahara was unable to produce some semblance of an answer. That always meant that it had never been dealt with before; that they'd have to blaze the trail; that they'd have to figure it out from scratch.

His spinal chord sends a current of chills through his nerves.

And it _has_ to be Rukia.

The rustling of clean fabric with the resonance of some popping bones and stretching muscle brings Ichigo from his reverie – snapping his head up to the man.

"I'll talk with Yoruichi. We'll try to pull something together – figure it out." Ichigo hasn't even noticed until now that the small black feline had padded her way into the room a good handful of minutes prior to his deep thinking.

Her tail ticks here and there as she languidly pushes herself up onto all four paws.

Ichigo isn't an observant fellow, but even with such lack of ability, he can sense that she's distressed, or as distressed as Yoruichi could be.

And as Urahara bids his adieu, Yoruichi's ebony tail swaying about in the wake if their leave, Ichigo feels like they know much more than they are willing to share – and for some reason, that scares him.

It scares him more than he'd be willing to declare.

He is left alone then. It's quiet, yet he doesn't move.

He is still for some time before his muscle twitches.

He bows his head.

His fingers clench.

And the silence begins to consume him.

--

"Did you say some choice words to Kuchiki-san again, Kurosaki?"

His shoulders stiffen a moment, stilling, before he turns as the glint of the prescription glass blinds him momentarily. He scowls, more prominent than usual, and wrinkles his nose at the Quincy.

"Stuff it, Uryuu. It's none of your business."

They are in class now. Chit-chat buzzing the room with white-noise.

The pale ( _teammate? Enemy? Friend? Acquaintance? ) _classmate gives a conservative scoff and lifts himself higher on the balls of his feet.

"It is when she's like this." He presses haughtily. Honestly, to the common observer, Rukia is not acting any different. Perhaps a decibel less dynamic, but always there to pick up her ques.

But she is quiet. Not just in generality, but in her voice as well.

For Ishida Uryuu, he can see that it isn't a regular softness in her tone.

She is thinking, brooding, mulling, hesitant, cautious. She is not focused on the world around her.

Ichigo snorts, sneering and rolling his eyes while attempting to redirect his focus forward, though nothing is happening in said direction, thus makes it seemingly more difficult to ignore Uryuu's presence.

They stay that way – Uryuu standing by his desk, Ichigo sitting still in his seat. It's awkward and uncomfortable.

Uryuu sighs and lets his shoulders drop a millimeter or so.

They end in a stalemate.

Uryuu knows that the subject is not his own until Ichigo addresses him to it. And even if he is the enemy to the dandelion head, he's a modern gentleman. He isn't about to allow trifling rivalries to separate his priorities in helping people.

And so, he retreats to his own desk, flashing his ice blue eyes in the direction of the raven haired shinigami and stares softly.

He isn't the only one.

Ichigo now watches from across the room – brows puckered and fingers clenching.

Her neck.

Her damn _neck_.

There is a mark there now.

A cross between a bruise and a hickey.

And he can smell it – the hollow – the mark of possession.

And it angers him so much. _So _much. And he knows that others are staring as well, then turn their eyes to him and wonder. But what really guts him – really twists his stomach into a faction of knots is that they're right.

He did it.

Indirectly.

But he did.

And _god, _it makes him just so sick. Because he hates the way it looks on her. And beneath the layers of morality and his sense of justice, where things start to pull apart into categories and feelings, rather than things to save, protect and look after; where emotion is raw and desires are present, beneath everything that separates the hero from the regular man, he _likes _the way it brandishes her neck.

The way his mouth was (indirectly) the one that marked her perfect skin.

He gets queasy again, his stomach churning in both disgust and confusion.

He looks forward to the board.

But his eyes don't see anything

He just stares.

--

"Ichigo…"

Chad's voice has always been deep – a soothing type of bass that seems far too low for someone as young as him.

But even so, the sound makes Ichigo cringe before he flickers his amber eyes in the direction of his junior high fighting staple.

"What's up, Chad…"

It's lunch time now, and they're all gathered on the roof – just like normal.

Keigo is spouting off about some hot girl he'd seen walking her dog the other day while he was out running an errand for his sister, buying some fruity soda – just like normal.

Mizuiro is nodding occasionally to Keigo's rambling, not listening as he ate his lunch placidly, while occasionally breaking that façade just to cleverly insult his blabbering friend before quieting once more – just like normal.

Uryuu is eating in stoic silence – just like normal.

It is almost driving Ichigo insane. Because he knows that almost all were aware of that mark.

That _damn _mark.

But they keep themselves ignorant and proceed as blissful as ever (or as blissful as high school students could really be.)

Although it was really a paradox of frustration. If one inquired, he'd withdraw. And if one ignored it completely, he'd grow frustrated at their strange sort of sympathy or sense of privacy.

He can deal with the thought of it as just a little nip mark – a sign of passion, a little red hickey. Because most know of his 'celibacy' as they call it, just to tease him (where he likes to call it his 'lack of preparation on such a matter').

But two things stand in the way.

Who would do that to Rukia, other than him? Everyone seems to know that Rukia runs around far too much to have some secret lover.

And _who_ does she run around with?

Him.

_Bingo._

But it was that small difference – that small discoloration – that slight purpling. The bruise. It wasn't a hickey alone. It was a bite mark – a mark of aggression. A mark of a rather abusive dominance.

Who would do that to Rukia?

He wouldn't.

But who else could, if not him?

No one.

_Fucking bingo._

They have been staring at one another for a while, a quiet stir swirling around them both before finally, finally deep hazel eyes glanced away and wavy russet locks sift ever so slightly.

"…Nevermind."

He seems to understand. There's a bit more going on than what can be figured out at the time. So he leaves it be and sits down beside Ichigo to eat his lunch.

Lunch carries on regardless with dynamics and silence alike – just like normal.

--

Rukia does not walk beside him that day. She doesn't accompany him home, skip ahead when the juice vendor comes into view, she doesn't even speak to him as the bell rings and everyone is eagerly skittering from the school to get home.

So he finds her before she's completely gone and unreachable and asks her softly where she is going.

She gives him a look over her shoulder and then snorts – rolling her deep blue eyes as she proclaims she needs to hassle Urahara about some new supplies.

And she doesn't bother to look back at him as she quickly jogs off.

He watches her go, so unsure of what to feel, or what to do.

So he grips his bag tightly and turns the other way.

He walks home alone for the first time in a long, long while.

It reminds him so much of that day – that day so long ago when he was walking along the same street, and thinking of the same person. Now that he thinks about it, everything was so much simpler then, too.

He almost laughs, barely cracks a grin as he thinks how he would undoubtedly take the route of going back through Soul Society and the promises of death around ever turn over the obstacles he faces now. Within a heartbeat's time, he'd take that right up again.

Because the obstacles he was against then were so blunt. So defined. So simple.

Yet here…he's afraid to realize that he doesn't even know where to begin.

As if his feet are on the sky and he can walk any which way forever, yet not get anywhere at all.

It really is just like before…so lost and confused.

The sounds of shoes clopping softly upon the pavement begin to draw him from his reverie. He looks up to see the same face and asks the same question – the repetition of history almost too eerie for his tastes.

"Inoue?"

The auburn haired girl twitches her brows – her shadowy gray eyes glimmering softly as she tries to sort out the questions she has on her own. But Ichigo Kurosaki had always been a rather difficult mind to read – either right out in the open, or completely withdrawn.

She straightens her back and tries to compose herself a bit more, as her heart aches lightly in her chest to see his eyes the way she's seen them so many times before.

"…What was the matter with Kuchiki-san…?"

Her voice is soft and hesitant, and yet the question seems to nail Ichigo right between the eyes. Had everyone noticed her off behavior today? Granted, Keigo seemed oblivious, but his powers of observation were nothing to rival to – practically nothing there to rival anyway.

"…What do you mean?"

He asks the question carefully. It is obvious that Rukia was not the same. But perhaps… perhaps it would help to see the different sides of her that his friends observe, as well as his own study. And Inoue always had a gift in reading people.

Her face becomes just a bit more twisted. Her fingers are clasped, one set over the other – placed gently atop her lower stomach as the fiddling causes her skirt to shift a bit at the edges.

"…She seemed anxious…"

Ichigo's shoulders slouch a bit and he sighs, flicking his amber orbs off, as he has never been very good at reassuring people with comforting tactics.

"Yeah…" he replies lamely and almost blushes a bit at such a lousy response. Inoue, however, takes it as an initiative to reveal her small revision as worry presses a small crease on her forehead.

"I mean, she seemed more anxious today than other days…so I didn't think it could be about hollows," Ichigo cringes at the irony that, it really did, just not that of the norm. "But that mark on her neck smelled a little bit like one…I mean, I could be wrong...- … and she was avoiding you, too…even in conversation at lunch time…"

That draws Ichigo's spark of curiosity. He knows that she had kept her distance for a reason, if only to keep her train of thought completely safe from becoming derailed…but it seems as though she is diligent in keeping him out of mind, as well.

_But why?_

"I'm not sure…so I thought I'd ask you…" He had failed to realize his question was stated aloud.

He shifts on his feet and shakes his head, lifting his palm to mow his fingers through his citrus locks like running through blades of grass.

"…I…don't know, Inoue…" He tries to half-lie.

She sees the reluctance of honestly, but as always, she does not press the matter and decides to withdraw from interrogating him – she doesn't possess the heart to do such a thing regardless. She realizes that perhaps he is still figuring it out himself; so instead, she raises her hopeful spirits and nods softly.

"Please tell me if you figure anything out, Kurosaki-kun…" Her fingers clench. Rukia is her friend as well, and she won't leave her in the dark alone.

He answers with a nod and a crook to the corner of his lips. His eyes are thankful, but it's easy to see he is troubled still as the auburn haired girl pivots her body gracefully and, with a quirk over her shoulder and a gentle wave of departure in his direction, _she_ is the one who is leaving, while he's left standing still.

He stares at the wake of her going away, and gazes at the pavement – quiet.

It's ironic how he wishes the past to repeat itself, regardless of his earlier chagrin to the unsettling accuracy in repetition.

He wishes as he grunts and begins to walk again, that he had found the simple answer like last time, where he was running, running, running hard toward his purpose because he _knew _just how to get there.

Now his slow steps are aimless, his thoughts are unfocused, and his purpose is lost.

He's left with that one option once more, and _god_…it scares him more than anything…

Hope.

--

His fingers click over the keypads and the little screen lights up as he does so.

Rukia's spirit phone had been left out on his night desk.

He has contemplated for some time – whether or not he should possibly use it, and if so, what he can possibly do with it.

The screen is bright against his eyes – illuminating his face in the darkness of his room. He is spread out on his mattress, body lax against the cushioning as he gazes at the highlighted name upon the screen.

_Abarai Renji. _

He stares at the name for a while – the mobile device's back lighting burning the imagine into his retina. His brows knit and he runs over all of his options and outcomes once more – feeling unbearable monotony lick at his attempts to remain still and focused:

Should he call the shinigami?

If he did, what would he say?

Would he be able to ask advice?

And if so, what would the red-haired shinigami be able to give him that he hadn't already thought of?

Would it even be worth it, seeing as he didn't know about the situation's logistics at all?

Would it make things _worse?_

Would telling Renji be the upheaval of the fabricated calm, which blanketed their situation in an eerie comfort?

Being the fuku-taichou of Byakuya, would the nobleman find out as well?

And if he did, what would that mean for both him and Rukia?

…Would Rukia have to go back?

Would that be right?

…Or _wrong_ . . ._?_

"Damnit…" Ichigo's mutter is barely a low grumble in the back of his throat. He closes the phone, eyes falling shut as the image still projects against his eyelids and fizzles away after a while.

The small charm hanging from the cell catches his attention and he lifts the little gadget for inspection. It's the Chappy ornament that Rukia had attached to her phone ages ago. The dangling rabbit replica grins back at him – its expression mirroring the ones Rukia doodles all the time.

His lip twitches as he thinks of her drawings and he snorts then, shaking his head. His opposite hand lifts from the mattress and gently flicks the little trinket.

As mocking as the smiling bunny seems to be, Ichigo's mind is preoccupied by the image of the little raven-haired shinigami eagerly squiggling away atop his desk.

His comfort is short lived.

The problem jolts back to him in a wave and his heart sinks.

He sighs, eyes closing as he reaches over to place the phone down atop his night desk again and sits up.

Though he doesn't possess an appetite, he was sure Yuzu would become concerned if he didn't come down for dinner, and thus she'd trek upstairs to get him. Though his motivation to move is little to none, his want for his family's involvement in his problems is even less.

He grunts as he pushes onto his forearms and up onto his feet. Opening his door, his nose is assaulted with the delicious smells of Yuzu's home cooking and a full course meal downstairs.

But it's not food he's hungry for.

He grimaces, goose bumps puckering across his flesh before he trudges downstairs. He eats everything on his plate and talks as little as possible. His father coos to him and inquires as to why he's so stoic, but before he can receive an answer, he begins to explain how such a depressing exterior can effect the probability of high quantity in grandchildren.

Before he can proceed to delve any further into such bogus symptoms, Ichigo stuffs a bowl of rice into his father's mouth and angrily finishes off his dinner.

"Ne, Ichi-nii~" Karin inquires, talking around the food in her mouth, ignoring both a gentle scolding from Yuzu about manners and her father haphazardly choking on rice grains and chopsticks.

"Huh." Ichigo grunts, his irritation evident as his answer indicates quite clearly that he isn't in the mood for a guessing game. But his sister knows better – they're very much alike, after all.

"Where's Rukia-nee?"

Ichigo begins to choke on a bit of miso and really, all he wants to do is bark a demanding explanation as to why everyone was so enamored with Rukia today. But he's far too busy coughing and wiping up he left over dribble from when he spat up the soup.

Yuzu is gently patting his back and once again scolding her twin. Karin, however, doesn't even flicker a brow at Ichigo's reaction. She only stares at her brother expectantly and waits to hear an answer.

After getting a lungful of air and no longer coughing sporadically, Ichigo stands from his place at the table and snorts – waving his hand. "Hell if I know. It's not my business to babysit her." And before his father can heckle him for swearing in front his beautiful daughters, while also disregarding his _third _daughter (his miraculous recovery from his prior choking fit going unnoticed), Ichigo promptly pivots and declares he's heading to bed.

All eyes follow him until he's out of the room, to which Isshin takes up wailing in anguish from the lack of affection his son bestows upon his poor daddy, and Yuzu reassuring her father that it was okay because Ichigo always acts like that.

Karin's eyes never avert from the door her brother had walked through, however. She stares blankly at the entry and finishes her juice before she, too, raises from the table. She thanks her sister for the meal and declares she's off to bed as well.

The two left at the table hush as they watch their second member leave the dinner table. They don't say anything more and begin to clean up.

That night is a quiet evening in the Kurosaki residence - but no one is resting.

--

2:14 am

He is still awake.

And very, very irritated.

His brows are guttered and his expression almost comical – gazing up in a pensive glaring contest with the ceiling.

It has taken him a long time to even sense Rukia's reiatsu.

But even when he got a small flicker of the familiar energy, he is still unable to pinpoint its location.

She is close, not moving, and safe judging by the flickering reiatsu.

But he wants to know _where _the hell that bloody midget is! Even though he is wary of her in his presence, that mark having made him anxious, he's obviously made a conjecture from his insomnia that he is much more comfortable with her at arm's length than at a distance.

His nostrils flair as his temple ticks. He's about ready to throw off his covers and look for her. But the sound of little squeaks and a moaning voice stops him.

His amber eyes quirk over to spot the little lion plush has scaled up his bedside and bears the expression of pure distress – quite a feat for a stuffed animal.

"Nee-san~" the little plush wails and Ichigo has half the mind to stuff the lion beneath the mattress and leave him there for good. He doesn't want to hear about Rukia being 'off' anymore. He is more aware of it than anyone.

However, the little lion surprises him a bit as he flops against his arm and huffs.

"Stupid crazy shop-keeper~" he sniffles and grumbles a bit more in his anger. "Hogging Nee-san all to himself when we had our designated snuggling tonight~" he continued to whine. Ichigo nearly feels the need to palm his forehead in his stupidity. Where else would Rukia go to when experiencing problems out of their control?

He groans and lets his arm fall back down to the side – having actually lifted it to smack his brow. The little plushie climbs onto his chest and flails his little arms. "Go get her, Ichigo~ That old man is a pervert. I don't trust my Nee-san with him."

Ichigo snorts and rolls his eyes. He will not even bother to argue with the duplicity of such an accusation of perversion coming _from _a pervert.

"No, Kon. She's staying there tonight." Ichigo dismisses and lets his eyes close – feeling very tired suddenly.

Surprising him once more, the mod soul doesn't make much of a protest. He sniffles a bit and waits in silence before his voice quietly pipes up again.

"…Can I sleep here, then?"

Ichigo grunts and turns onto his side – muscled back facing the stuffed animal. "Fine." He grumbles begrudgingly – far too tired to argue with the deprived lion.

He is starting to fall asleep then, body slowly lulling into unconsciousness from his exhaustion as he feels Kon's little body nestling against his own with a sniffle and a pout-like whisper of 'nee-san'.

He scoffs and settles in, feeling his body shut down so willingly.

--

3:43 am

He is asleep.

His window slides open and a little figure steps inside.

He does not stir – only mumbles in his sleep and turns over just a bit.

He is still again. Neither of them moves from their positions. Only their reiatsu begin to mingle – pushing and twisting with one another's. Softly dancing and nuzzling affectionately. She shivers at the intimacy and tries to pull hers back in modesty, but it only curls tighter around his and settles.

So she sighs in defeat, oh so tired, and gently settles as well.

Her eyes are on him – gazing softly over his relaxed form, patient for sleep to come.

Her fingers clench, his scent so familiar.

And she waits.

* * *

**END OF PART II**

**

* * *

**

**Lendra-chan: **I know – that took blood forever.

I'll try to be quicker~

Please review!


End file.
